Playing the Odds
by Astralis
Summary: After the events of Sniper Zero, Terry finds Don sitting in Charlie's backyard. DonTerry.


**DISCLAIMER:** Yeah, they're not mine.

* * *

He doesn't look surprised when she finds him sitting in the corner of his father's - Charlie's - garden, staring up at the trees and past them to the stars. "Your father and Charlie said I'd find you here," Terry offers, sitting down beside him.

Don gives her a tiny smile, dropping his gaze to the grass and then back up into space again. "What are they doing?"

"Playing chess." Terry breathes in the scent of a Los Angeles summer night - grass, vegetation, Don, and the artificial smell of vehicles coming from the road.

"Dad and Charlie haven't played chess since Charlie was about eight," Don says.

Terry shrugs. "Well, they're playing at the moment. Your father thinks Charlie's letting him win."

Don chuckles. "If Dad's winning, Charlie must be letting him." His laughter dies away and he turns to Terry, elbows on knees. "So, what are you doing here?"

It's the question she's been expecting and dreading because she's got dozens of answers and none of them are coherent or satisfactory, they're just there, in her head. All she knows is that tonight when they're all alive, when Charlie's alive and they're both alive, and Sniper Zero is behind bars so LA can breathe again, she doesn't want to be alone and she doesn't want Don to be alone. And so she shrugs and looks down at the lawn, individual blades of grass blending into a great indistinguishable mass, like humans in a crowd, but then, if she isolates just one she could reach out and pick it and with a sharp snap everything that blade of grass had been would be ended -

Just like a bullet from a sniper could fell anyone, any person; Terry, Don, David, Charlie...

"I just felt like some company," she says, pushing back the profiler and trying to find Terry again. "You don't mind, do you?" As much as she can put her feelings into words she's speaking the truth. She wants company and she thinks Don could probably use some, but she won't tell him that.

Don smiles and shakes his head, and when he looks at her she sees the Don Eppes she dated all those years ago at Quantico. It was a relationship that had never been all that it could be, because they'd been young and idealistic and starry-eyed and they'd thought the FBI would be enough, and that was how they'd managed to let each other go.

When it comes to men, Terry Lake has too many if-onlys and what-ifs in her life.

One thing their past and their present has given them is the ability to sit together quietly. It seems, in Terry's experience, like that is something very rare.

Silence is good.

"Charlie could have died today, Terry," Don says, finally, quietly.

She knows. If there's a real, honest reason she came tonight, maybe that's it. She won't question Don's double standard regarding the risks he takes and the risks he'd rather Charlie not take. Charlie is his little brother, brilliant but inept, and Don thinks it's up to him to protect Charlie.

Life, and death. One second you're alive and the next, boom, you're dead. Terry remembers a couple of months back, struggling, her and Don and David together as David defused that bomb, the press of bodies and ragged breathing and desperation, amid the knowledge that always in less than a second they could all be reduced to blood and bone and body parts... Her blood, Don's, David's, all mixed up together... And she remembers the relief and the feeling that the world was full of so many possibilities.

Charlie must have felt the same today. He's probably figured out exactly how many possibilities his world holds for him - thousands, millions.

Terry feels a little breathless. "But he didn't," she says firmly, and realises only seconds have passed since Don spoke. "And that's..." No, she thinks, it's not all that matters, because Charlie could have died, and that will _always_ matter. "It's important."

Don shrugs. "Do you ever think, you know - about what could have happened?"

She can't tell if he's thinking about today, or their past, or that Secret Service agent he almost married, or something else entirely, and so she just says, "Yes. But I'm not sure it's healthy."

"Probably not," Don says, breathing out slowly.

Terry sighs, and imagines the stream of her breath mingling with his and then dissipating, fading away into the night air.

"Ever wish you had a normal job?" Don asks.

That's an easy question. "No. Never." She could never be anything else. And, for that matter, neither could Don. They were doing what they were supposed to do.

If only the rest of her life were that sorted.

It's nice out here. Peaceful, quiet, safe for the first time in days. They've got Sniper Zero locked up and her sense of relief is almost tangible. No matter how many calculations Charlie did about the chances of one of them getting shot by one of the snipers it didn't make her feel any more comfortable about walking down the street. It's probably still not entirely safe, even now. They've got Sniper Zero, but there could still be copycats, there could still be snipers out there. They could be anywhere.

Still, she could get hit by a car tomorrow. Don could be shot in a raid. David could be blown up. Charlie could be beaten up on campus.

Could, should, would, if only, what if, maybe.

Life is about playing the odds. It's about weighing up the risks and about figuring out what's worth it. Maybe that's the ultimate reason she came here tonight, the reason she's not been thinking about. She doesn't profile herself. That would be vaguely creepy, and would probably come up with a lot of things she never wants to admit to herself.

"You doing okay, Terry?" Don asks quietly.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine." Terry tucks a loose chunk of hair back behind her ear, and notices Don looking at her, sideways, through the dim light of the night.

And of all the if-onlys, Don Eppes is the biggest. If only they'd made it work, not just the relationship itself but their both being FBI agents, maybe they'd be married by now, and maybe she'd be juggling work with raising two or three cute little kids with their father's eyes. Don wouldn't have gone to Alberqueque and wouldn't have gotten engaged to Kim; she would never have married Thomas. Maybe, possibly, would never, if only.

It's funny how life turns out, how one decision can shift your whole life into a different course, and how, so many years in the future, a half-remembered dream can come back with full force and sock you in the stomach. "I'd better go," she says quickly, trying to think of an excuse, any excuse. She'd been so sure she was over Don, until he came back to LA. And now... when did thinking about the possibilities the world had to offer turn into regretting the ones it didn't?

"Hey." Don's eyes are concerned. "What are you thinking about, Terry?"

She realises she hasn't made a move to stand up. "What might have happened," she says, and regrets it almost before she's finished her sentence. If Don figures out what she's referring to, she's screwed and so's their friendship and their working relationship.

At the moment she almost wishes he'd never come back, because that would have been so much easier in so many ways.

"Yeah," is all he says, looking away again and staring into the grass.

"Yeah," she echoes.

"Yeah," he says again, looking up and his eyes meet hers once more. "Terry - " he says, and the next thing she knows is the once-familiar touch of his palm, warm and rough, against her cheek. "I'm glad you came."

It feels like it takes forever for her to remember how to speak. "Me too."

Don's thumb brushes against her cheek. Terry shifts a little in her seat, leans forward, and then -

Cliche, she thinks, as Charlie slams the screen door open (possibly a little harder than was really necessary, she realises later) and there's strangely cool air on her cheek as Don pulls his hand away. Cliche. Happens on the movies all the time - the hero and the heroine are about to have their first kiss, but then something happens to postpone it - Terry considers the fact that she might watch too many romantic movies.

"Hey! Do you guys want some ice cream?" If the sound of the door opening shattered the little world the two of them had been building, Charlie's voice flows over the remains, coating what felt exotic and exhilirating in plain everyday-ness.

"We'll be there in a minute," Don calls back, and Terry notes the affectionate exasperation in his voice before he turns to her and shrugs.

"Yeah," she says.

At least now she knows.

* * *

Terry Lake may be small, but she's perfectly capable of protecting herself. She certainly doesn't need to be escorted out to her car, but because it's Don and because she can still taste chocolate ice cream on her tongue, she goes with him willingly, aware of their shared knowledge of what almost happened back there in the garden.

Now, if only she knew how to _act_ on that knowledge.

They stop by her car and she leans back against the driver's door, just the slightest bit weak at the knees.

This sort of thing _never_ happens to her, she thinks, and keeps thinking it as Don cups her face in his hands and looks into her eyes, and what was "the slightest bit weak at the knees" becomes "really quite weak at the knees" and it's _summer_, she shouldn't be trembling like this -

Of course, what happens next is that he kisses her and it feels like her past, her present and her future, all colliding and she's really quite grateful for the fact that she's sandwiched between Don's body and the car. It means she can concentrate on him without all those pesky details like how he expects her to remain standing.

She wraps her arms around him and holds on to save herself from drowning. Okay, apparently the mature adult woman has vanished somewhere, just when Terry needed her most, to be replaced with gawky teenage girl.

She really, really likes the feeling of his hand in her hair.

Like all kisses, this one has to end. Don rests his chin on her head and holds her, and she's afraid to speak, afraid to acknowledge what just happened in case it all vanishes into oblivion.

"We shouldn't do this out here," Don says eventually. Practicalities. Yeah, that's Don. Now's the part where they both remember that he's her superior and that there are a hell of a lot of reasons why this shouldn't happen. But with her legs starting to feel a bit more secure again, she can think of a lot of reasons why it should.

"I know," she says. Don takes a step back, and the space between them suddenly feels about the size of Texas. "Come for dinner tomorrow night?" Her words feel like a test of how real this has been.

Don nods, and his hand grips her elbow, letting go almost before she knows what's going on. "I'll see you at work," he says.

"Sleep well," she whispers, and is finally able to drive away. When she goes to turn out of the street, Don raises an arm and waves.

Terry smiles.

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
